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antishurtugal_rebornWarning: This chapter contains violence, death, and abuse.
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Elminster in Myth Drannor! Last time, the Coronal had a meeting with a bunch of other important elves, where little was decided but a rather bizarre side plot was discussed. Elminster himself hid in Dlardrageth tower, was weirdly nonchalant about ghosts, a mob showed up to kill him, and he got hit with some sort of vision/seizure courtesy of Mystra. Today, Elminster faces his pursuers, and some random people we haven’t seen in a while make their return. Joining us once again will be Mira and Calassara!
Chapter Twelve: The Stag at Bay
Calassara: Well, it sounds like something’s going to happen, at least? Can I hope for that much? Our opening quote comes from the gossip rag again, because of course it does. The most dangerous moment in the hunt is when the stag turns, at bay, to trade his life for as many of the hunters as he can. Elven magic customarily turns such moments into mere glimpses of magnificent futility. But what would such moments be, I wonder, if the stag had strong magic, too? Well, if you want to find out… hunt a druid. Though I doubt that will end well for you. And using magic in a hunt? Not very sporting, is it! Not to mention, of the animals one usually hunts, I had always heard the most dangerous is not the stag, but the boar… then again, the stag is the symbol of Elminster’s house, and Elminster is being hunted, so clearly, we’re being metaphorical here. *rolls her eyes*
We cut to an elf screaming It’s coming for me! Blast it! I’m not sure if that “blast it” was a curse or an instruction, but either way the screaming wakes Elminster up (so he didn’t bleed out last time? What a pity… I mean, oh, good, he’s alive). He sees a blast of fire and some collapsing stone from nearby as he tries to figure out what’s going on and feels like part of his face is burned. Finally, the fires dim and he can make out an elf hovering in midair, his sword drawn. The Dlardrageth ghosts are surrounding him and attacking him, and… oh, dear, is this Greenwood’s authorial favoritism in play? For the Srinshee and Elminster, the ghosts are inconveniences at worst – but to Elminster’s enemies, they’re an actual threat! And of course, we have no reason for why this would be. Elminster thinks to himself that there was little chance any of the young elves here today had the power to destroy a Dlardrageth ghost. Considering these are, again, the same ghosts who have given you no trouble at all, am I the only one who thinks that sounds like a rather low-key bit of boasting? On the other hand, Elminster also thinks that these ghosts have little power to do more than frighten the living – dear, dear, in the sorts of stories I know, people who underestimate ghosts and monsters tend to end up dead. He also thinks that the elf is in easy range of throwing lethal magic at him, if he notices him. Elminster grabs for his spellbook and thinks to himself about what Mystra just put him through… I mean, did for him. She’d dragged him through a thousand tangled Alastrarran half-memories to what his mage’s mind had remembered clearly, at the very depths of his recall: the spells the lore-gem had held. There’d been one he’d dared not use. Empowering it would strip three of the most powerful spells from his memory and drain something from the scepter as well… but it was needful he do so. And of course, Elminster’s goddess swooped in just when he needed her to make him more powerful. Whyever should we have assumed otherwise?
Mira: …I don’t think I did assume otherwise? Knowing what story this is, I mean… even though gods in my own world rarely give their gifts without a price. And so Elminster begins preparing his spell, drawing power from the scepter as he does. At last, when the spell is ready, Elminster hides his spellbook again, taking the cord off it (what was the point of hiding it the first time, then? And did he get it out just to retrieve the cord?) which he then uses to slip down to the next level of the ruined tower. The levitating elf, too busy fighting the ghosts (which can indeed be very dangerous, Elminster, especially malevolent ones such as these – my guild does not specialize in dealing with them merely out of respect or because they’re good sources of old knowledge!) doesn’t notice, and once Elminster’s on the floor, he casts his first spell, the shield he used fighting Delmuth. It was time to face Ivran’s merry band of blood hunters. The elves sense his magic from the room they’re currently searching and let out an excited roar – are these elves, or lions? – before heading his way; it was time to greet them. Elminster sticks his head out from where he’s hiding to see the levitating elf descending towards him and taunts him by waving at him. Which leads to an… outraged?... cry of He waved at me! By Nemorga, if this is how these people react to something like that, imagine how they’d treat a real insult! Tlannatar Wrathree, coming up behind him, urges him to get a move on, and El gave him a grin that must have showed every tooth he possessed, and made an almost amorous beckoning gesture. …considering the way Greenwood has described almost every elf in this book, maybe it is amorous? Although that grin would be most unsettling, if so… Ivran, behind them both, doesn’t care if he’s grown dwarven-dunged gossamer wings – what even would such things look like!? - and just tells them to move.
Tlannatar literally shoves the first elf towards Elminster; Elminster considers shooting lightning at them, but in a rare display of prudence, thinks they might have a mantle capable of deflecting it and holds off. He runs off, thinking that it’s fortunate that none of these elves have bows; they left that weapon to their common warriors, thank Mystra. Or Corellon. Or Solonor Thelandira, the hunting god. Or whomever. That’s… quite an array, from common warriors to the highest god in their pantheon! And here I thought the bow was one of the weapons most stereotypically associated with elves… Elminster stops and waits for Tlannatar and the other elf to come up behind him, then once they’ve seen him, keeps leading them on a further chase through the tower. As he runs, he prays to Mystra that he survives this, or she’ll have to send another Chosen to Cormanthor to finish his mission. If you want to be gentle on whoever that is, select an elf, hmmm? That doesn’t strike me as a bad idea… assuming that the elves, who have their own gods, are amenable to that. I think I’ve mentioned before that gods are territorial? Elminster keeps leading the elves deeper into the tower; one of them comments that this isn’t right, that Elminster wasn’t so fearful before, but Ivran tells him to be quiet. It was his moment of glory; he was swaggering towards Elminster with leisurely grace, almost dancing on the tips of his toes as he came. Well, Ivran almost sounds to me like he’s about to burst into song, though that can’t be right… and being so overconfident against Elminster, I can only assume his end is near. He taunts Elminster, asking if he’s cornered now, and Elminster says no – Ivran is. So, the tables have turned! Ah, I think? Some of the other elves are startled by this, but Ivran tells them to be quiet.
Calassara: And then, instead of taking his own advice, he starts making that classic villain mistake – he starts monologuing. You hairy barbarians think yourselves clever… and you are – too clever. Unfortunately, in the half-witted, cleverness breeds insolence. You’ve certainly shown us ample supplies of that, being insolent enough to think you can slaughter the heirs of no less than ten Houses of Cormanthor – eleven, if we count Alastrarra, whose lore-gem you wore when you came trotting into our midst; who’s to say you didn’t murder Iymbryl to get it? – and pay no price. Some who hold the rank of armathor serve Cormanthor diligently all their lives, and slay fewer foes than you have today… See, there are many more, here. What a splendid opportunity to add to your score? Why do you not attack? Are you scared, perhaps? Well, despite the racist way in which he makes his point, I can’t see Ivran is wrong – although, he really should have stabbed or blasted Elminster, then gloated afterwards. Elminster says violence isn’t Mystra’s way and, oh, Savored Sting, excuse me… *she doubles over laughing; finally she sits up, wiping her eyes* Oh, gods… remember all the people Mystra killed herself last book? And all the people she helped you kill? Violence is absolutely Mystra’s way! You’re not fooling anyone, Elminster! Ivran mentions the heirs Elminster killed by the pool – and, okay, that was a frame, but it doesn’t change my overall point! The hunters encircle Elminster as Ivran starts reeling off the names of the houses all his supposed victims belonged to. And, I hear from our mages, Echorn and Auglamyr, too! Considering that was Elandorr and Symrustar… yes, Elminster, those (or at least, whatever Elandorr did to Symrustar after you left them) are on you.
Ivran starts tossing his sword back and forth, restless juggling that El knew meant he’d throw it soon – you know, you can throw a sword, but most swords aren’t weighted for that. And besides, if you do that, you’re down a weapon. So in most situations, it’s a showy but rather useless move. Where were we? Oh, right. Ivran says that any one of the deaths would have been enough to earn Elminster’s death in turn, so now Ivran is stuck trying to figure out how to kill Elminster ten or eleven times over. Considering you’re in a haunted tower… that might not be hypothetical. Two of the gallants you slew were close friends of mine. And all of us here are saddened by the loss of the Lady Symrustar, whose promise has warmed us all for three seasons now. You took these from us, human worm. Have you anything futile to say on your own behalf? Something to entertain us as we hack you down? *she shakes her head disapprovingly* Monologuing. And I must say, from Ivran’s perspective, knowing what he thinks he knows (ie, that Elminster is a dangerous murderer who killed his friends, and will likely kill again if he’s not stopped)… I can’t say his actions don’t make sense? And one thing Elminster has not said in his defense is “I’m innocent,” even though it’s true of most of the deaths. I don’t count “violence isn’t Mystra’s way” because we all know that’s a lie! Does what you did to Symrustar weigh on your conscience, perchance? Well, Ivran and his compatriots charge, and Elminster casts his spell and became a rising, roiling column of white sparks. Huh… not what I was expecting, but… nice trick. The elves pass through him and slam into each other, weapons still raised, with predictable results. Elves arched in agony and screamed, or coughed around the hilts of deeply driven blades, and poured out their blood upon the stones. Oh, but violence isn’t Mystra’s way. *she snorts* And my goddess is famous for being celibate!
MG: For the record, Calassara worships Calistria, goddess of lust, passion and vengeance… who is, obviously, not celibate.
Mira: *delicately* I can’t say I’ve ever speculated on Lord Nemorga’s sexual habits – what would even go where? *she shudders* - so let’s move on. Elminster starts to drift away, while Ivran yells for the others to stop him. His last word was choked off by blood bubbling forth due to two blades that were not his standing in his body – oh, my – and another elf hurries over to heal him. Tlannatar says he has a spell and calls for the others to raise their blades (does that include the two currently sheathed in their leader?). The elves obediently do so, and Tlannatar’s spell sends them shooting after Elminster, point-first. The blades hit the column of sparks that is currently Elminster and get spat back out across the room at random. Tlannatar cried out as one took him in the ear, and toppled over with his mouth still open; it would gape, now, forever. Ivran, held up by his healer, took one in the throat and spat blood at the ceiling in a last, dying stream, and another elf fell, far across the room, with a sword right through him. *giggling weakly* But violence isn’t Mystra’s way… violence isn’t Mystra’s way! *she composes herself, holding tightly to her scarf* Once it’s all done, Elminster drifts away down the corridor, leaving only the nameless, fearful elf from before; of them all, only he still stood, though someone was moaning and moving feebly by one wall. The nameless elf stumbles over to that person, but by the time he gets to them, they’re dead as well. Nemorga help us all – I think this tower just got several more ghosts! Vengeful ones. How many of us… does it take to buy the life of one human? Father Corellon! How many! Considering it’s Elminster… too many, but the scene ends there.
We cut to Elminster as raw power surges through him – did he need more? – and he was feeling stronger, warmer and mightier by the second. He spins on, sucking up the magic the hunters wove around the tower and feeling stronger still; laughing uncontrollably, El felt himself growing taller and brighter, as he rose from the shattered base of the fallen tower. Ah… wasn’t this more-or-less what happened to the villain at the end of the last Shnadril book, which I didn’t spork but did hear about? I don’t think this is going to end well, one way or another… The four mages the hunters left outside initially panic, then start casting something in response. Elminster closes in on them as the elves finish their spell; an instant later, Faerun exploded, which can’t be good. Elminster can feel his essence torn apart and dispersed in all directions; he barely manages to call out Mystra’s name and he was falling… many of him were falling, onto many treetops… *in horror* Oh, gods help us all! One was bad enough! We cut to Earynspieir, demanding someone tell him what happened, while thinking to himself that the young bloods of the realm are all fools. The mage he’s speaking to falls to his knees and begs for his life, but Earynspieir only wants to know if Elminster’s dead (considering he continues to star in novels set more than a thousand years after this… if he is, I don’t think it will stick?). The mage says they blasted Elminster to bits, and though they’ve been scrying for him since, they haven’t found him. We also learn the name of our lone survivor, Rotheloe Tyrneladhelu, what a name – who apparently hasn’t stopped crying since they found him. Considering what he went through… I can’t blame him. Earynspieir sarcastically thinks that with eight dead and a ninth suffering and no proof their enemy is dead, they truly won a great victory. The mage insists it was. I didn’t see you there, standing boot to boot with us, hurling spells at the heirslayer! He describes how Elminster came bursting out of the tower in the form of a pillar of flame and how much courage it took to stand their ground against him, and… I don’t think he’s wrong? Earynspieir isn’t impressed, and calls on two of the other court mages, Sylmae and Holone, to scry on him and make sure he’s telling the truth. The mage tells them to get back, but Sylmae is undeterred; he can’t believe they’re going to scry on him, but Sylmae assures him they act with the Coronal’s authority. The mage thinks that the whole realm knows the Coronal’s gone mad, which does seem to be a problem – maybe he should look into improving his image? Earynspieir coldly tells him that once they’re done scrying him, they’ll take him straight to the Coronal so he can tell him that in person. If you’re feeling a trifle more prudent than at present, you may be wise enough to do politely. And on that threatening note, the scene ends.
Calassara: And so, we cut to… Galan, who I was sure was one of the ones whose death was collateral damage during the duel between Elminster and Delmuth, but apparently not. He’s staring at his reflection, and indeed his face is now a bloody mess, but he was a warrior of Cormanthor, not one of those weak-knees, the prancing and overperfumed lispers whom the high noble houses of the realm were pleased to call heirs. *flatly* I’ve known some “prancing and overprerfumed lispers” who are among some of the best swordsmen I’ve ever met, so… do go on, keep going with that line of thought, I’m sure it will end so well. He was like stone, or old tree-root. He would endure without complaint and rise again. Someday. Beg pardon, but… weren’t you the same person who was going to flee Toril to escape your gambling debts? That’s not “enduring without complaint,” is it? He turns away from the pool where he’s been studying himself and sets off, heading for somewhere called Assombryl. He thinks to himself that no one lives around here because of the stirges, and one is following him now…
MG: Think a giant mosquito, crossed with a bat. Nasty critters.
Calassara: …I can only imagine *shudders* He thinks if the stirge and all its relatives catch him, he might be nothing more than a bag of dried skin and bones before night but keeps going until he stumbles onto a cart laden heavily with mushrooms. He starts eating them, only for the elf who’s pushing the cart to leap out from behind it and raise a dagger to throw. That was quick! Galan knocks it aside with a thrown dagger of his own, then pins the other elf – a farmer, is that the first elf commoner we’ve seen in this whole book? Do they all live out in the country? – against a tree with his sword. The farmer starts babbling about his farm and his, ah, shrooms – I think I’ve sampled a few of those in my time – and then starts handing over his money, but it turns out Galan is so beat up, the elf thinks he’s human! *flatly* Really. Because being ugly and bloody is all it takes to look like a human, I suppose? The farmer keeps handing money over, and it turns out he doesn’t think Galan is just any human, but Elminster himself! I would not dream of trifling with or cheating the great human armathor that Corellon himself has sent to our Coronal to scourge the sinful and decadent of our realm! I think you’ve got the wrong god, friend, but otherwise… close enough. Finally, the farmer hands over some gems, then says he’s given everything but my float of shrooms and my lunch! It turns out though that Galan, after his ordeal, is hungry, and he does want the poor man’s lunch. The farmer pulls it out of his cart and hands it over, and in return Galan gives him his gems back – not for any altruistic reason, but because gems are easier than coins to trace magically, and coins are safer. The farmer is so loudly thankful that Galan is temped to kill him then and there for being annoying, but he resists the urge and sends the farmer on his way home. As he does so, he swings his sword – and just happens to slice a stirge in half as he does, which earns more praise from the farmer and makes Galan are the more convinced to travel alone. He heads off to eat his stolen lunch and stops by a big tree to pray to Corellon. You do have a sense of humor, Sacred Mother and Father, don’t you? Did… did Greenwood actually manage to work in acknowledgment of Corellon being both male and female, like I’m told they’re supposed to be? I’m actually impressed… not enough to improve my opinion of the overall work, but still… Galan gets no reply, but thinks Corellon probably knows about their own sense of humor already, and starts eating. Corellon offered no objections. And on that note, we end this seemingly irrelevant interlude with a rather unlikeable character. Which is, alas, not much different from most of Greenwood’s writing…
Warning: Potentially triggering material begins here.
Mira: And so, we cut to someone named Lord Ihimbraskar Evendusk as he complains about Elminster killing lords and armathors breaking their blades, and wonders what Cormanthor is coming to. He’s so angry he brutally beats a servant who happened to be in his way with his Pegasi goad and his wife Duilya is left wondering if she has to go through with this. Oh, right, she was part of that party from several chapters ago, wasn’t she? The one who planned to get drunk and seduce her husband to make him do what she wants… and now it’s looking like her husband is an abuser with a terrible temper who does violence to people who happen to be in his way. Poor woman… no, you don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to! A voice whispers in her mind yes Duilya, or he’ll be carving you up with that goad next, and Nemorga knows I don’t have much experience with sex or love, but I think that if your choices are between sex and the threat of brutal violence, you should get out of that situation! The voice tells her that they’re with her and to just do as they agreed, and this is not making it sound like Duilya has a choice – I assume the voice is her friends from the party? In which case I can’t say I think very highly of them, either… Lord Evendusk is still ranting about how the Coronal must have gotten his ideas from sleeping with human wenches *she flushes* and at last stops as he sees Duilya, sitting in his favorite chair with a bottle of his favorite sherry. Duilya is clad in a gown that would have made his pulses race if Duilya had been forty summers younger, twice as slim as she was, and just a bit less familiar. Oh, so we’re in his perspective now, and learning more than I ever wanted to about his preferences – and isn’t forty years a pittance, to a full-blooded elf? Duilya then picks up the bottle and downs the whole thing at once – I do believe that was part of the earlier plan, yes? Lord Evendusk’s silently boiling rage slid sideways, as he noticed what a beautiful throat his wife possessed. He didn’t think he’d ever noticed it before. …is Lord Evendusk perhaps a vampire?
Duilya sets the empty bottle down and says she’ll have some more; Lord Evendusk finally demands to know just what by all the pits of the spider-worshipping drow d’you think your doing? Ah, is it customary to swear by the name of one’s ancestral enemies? I’ve not heard anyone of my acquaintance swear by Glivid-Autel or the Society of Immortals*, but maybe I haven’t been listening hard enough? Duilya smiles at him and wishes him good morning, and he demands to know the meaning of this (I’d like to know, too…). He then literally grabs her shoulders and shakes her as he gets in her face and demands she answer, and I’m increasingly convinced Duilya needs to get out of this relationship, now. Perhaps we can help? He literally raises his goad to threaten her, ignoring the servants clustering behind them, and then Duilya tears open her bodice; his name was emblazoned in gems across her otherwise bare breasts. *taken aback* That… I wasn’t expecting. She asks if he wouldn’t rather beat her in their bedchamber, where you’ve room to take a really good swing. Ah, Duilya, I don’t know much of these things, but I’m fairly sure that while some people are into that… consent and restraint are important? And Lord Evendusk is acting like he truly wishes to do you harm? So maybe that’s something to keep in mind? She then adds that she prefers when you just put on my gowns and let me use the goad. *she flushes brightly* Oh, well… no comment? Lord Evendusk is stunned and turns white as the servants start chuckling behind him; Duilya thanks them for their arrival and orders another bottle of sherry. Lord Evendusk, at a loss for words, barely manages to demand an explanation, though he does call his wife wench, which isn’t very nice but far from the worst thing he’s done this chapter. Duilya complains that night after night, he goes to revels without her - if he can’t take her, can he at least take some of the servants? Jhalass, there, and Rubrae – they’re much younger and prettier than I am; why don’t you show them off and let them enjoy the same fun you do? Considering Lord Evendusk’s temperament – do you really want to subject some other woman to him? Especially servants who aren’t in a position to tell him no? *she clutches her scarf tightly* Because I wouldn’t do that, if I was you…
*MG’s Note: Glivid-Autel being Hollowfaust’s rival city, and the Society of Immortals the renegade necromancer guild that rules it. The necromancers of Hollowfaust are intended as a subversion of the “evil necromancer” stereoytype… but the Society of Immortals play it much straighter.
Calassara: Nor I… though if my family had tried to marry me off to this cretin, I’d have left Kyonin long before I actually did. The servants watch in shock as Duilya complains that all she sees of her husband is roaring and groaning so she decided to try his chair and his sherry to see the attraction. So far, all the sherry has left her with is a powerful desire to relieve herself – just what we wanted to hear – but she’s willing to try more, in the bedroom. Where we’re going now, lord. *shaking her head* Duilya, Duilya… proper seduction’s an art form. This is a punch to the face… though to get through to your clod of a husband, that might be what it takes. Of course, considering his behavior so far, literally punching him in the face… and then running to the nearest safe place… might actually be advised… Lord Evendusk wants to know why they’re going to the bedroom, and Savored Sting, these people are dense, aren’t they? Duilya explains that Drinking every night’s no excuse for spending every morning stumbling around like an idiot, making a mockery of the honor of the house, and leaving me neglected, night after night and day after day. We are partners, my lord, and it’s high time you treated me as one. A nice speech – I might like it better if I didn’t think your husband was an abusive wastrel more likely to beat either you or a servant than to pay attention to a word of it. Seriously, I think I see where Greenwood is trying to go with this, but he made Lord Evendusk too despicable, too fast, so all I can think is that Duilya should get away from him, for her own safety. Finally, he asks what she wants of him, in silken tones which doesn’t make me think he’s being very sincere, and she says she wants him to sit and talk with her about the Coronal and the recent deaths. He asks what she knows about that while slowly striking his palm with the goad, and… that’s a threatening gesture. If Duilya’s trying to get him to calm down and listen… I don’t think it’s working.
But she gestures at another chair, and as he sits down and asks her to speak, there was something in his eyes… that hadn’t been there before, which makes me think Greenwood thinks we’re supposed to think this is working. She tells him that he and his peers are the backbone of Cormanthor; never think for a moment that I do not revere you for the work you do, and the honor you have one. That would have been more effective if you hadn’t just devoted several pages to calling him a worthless lout – or we had any idea he was anything more than a worthless lout. She goes on that she doesn’t want to lose that honor, or to see someone stabbing my lord Evendusk – she says that no human is worth tearing Cormanthor apart, and that she and her friends sit and talk about this every day, but he never asks her opinion. She says he treats her like furniture, and she says she’s more than that as she gets up and literally strips. I’m your friend, lord. I’m the one you should come home and confide in and share rude jokes with and argue with. Have you forgotten what it’s like to share ideas – not kisses or punches, but ideas, spoken of aloud – with an elf maid? Come with me now, and I’ll teach you how. We have a realm to save. She then turns and, still naked, marches out of the room. Lord Evendusk watched her go, bared, swinging hips and all and tells the servants not to disturb them (also, that bit about punches absolutely sounds like confirmation he is physically abusive). You know… I don’t think ideas are what he’s thinking about sharing. He even tosses his goad aside and apologizes to the servants. And thus, because he’s sexually interested in his wife again, he’s a changed man! *she rolls her eyes* Once he’s gone the servants erupt into cheering and one of them brings in the other bottle of sherry, which Duilya has apparently said is for them. The whole group celebrates; Thanks to you, Corellon. Bring us humans every moon, if they cause such as this! And then we briefly cut to Duilya’s friends as they, having magically sensed what is going on, collapsed into each other’s arms and wept happy tears. And with that, the chapter comes to an end.
Potentially triggering material ends here
MG: Okay, so this one is… a lot. The first part is just Elminster’s battle with Ivran and his hunters. I’ll note that Greenwood makes Ivran as obnoxious and bigoted as possible, so we’ll ignore that from his perspective he’s doing something justified in trying to stop a dangerous killer, and Elminster doesn’t even bother to defend himself before slaughtering everybody (aside from the blatant lie that is “violence isn’t Mystra’s way” – pull the other one, Greenwood). Galan… I do not even know why that section’s here, except to show how far Elminster’s reputation has already spread. Galan will have a few more appearances, but thus far, he’s been a completely superfluous character – if he had died a few chapters ago, it wouldn’t have made a huge difference. And then there’s Duilya and Ihimbraskar’s remarkably dysfunctional marriage. I… don’t know what Greenwood was trying to do here. At first, Lord Evendusk is presented as an unpredictable brute whose response to every frustration is violence, to the point that we genuinely feared for Duilya’s and/or the servants’ safety… and then after a mild scolding and offer of sex from his wife, he suddenly does a complete 180 and is now humble and reasonable? Huh? I really do think for this to work at all, Greenwood needed to make the character a lot less despicable – just have him and Duilya having drifted apart over the years and needing to rekindle their relationship, rather than making him a drunken sadist who never loved or respected her at all and who, again, resorts to violence at the drop of a hat. As it is, I don’t buy his “transformation” in the slightest, and I’m uncomfortably reminded of the old trope of how women women’s only option for controlling or “taming” men is through sex. Blegh. Anyway, that’s it for this chapter. Next time, we learn what became of Elminster – did anyone really think he was dead? – and also, discover the fate of Symrustar. We’ll see you then!
I’m also partway through my reread and commentary on the (in)famous epic Avatar: The Last Airbender fanfic Embers which can be found here if you’re interested!
Since this January, 2024, marks my tenth anniversary as a sporker at this comm, I also did a brief writeup reflecting on my experiences here, my past sporkings, and a bit on what I’m likely to be doing in the near future; you can read it on my journal here if that interests you!
MG: Well, everyone, it’s time to continue our journey through Ed Greenwood’s Elminster in Myth Drannor! Last time, the Coronal had a meeting with a bunch of other important elves, where little was decided but a rather bizarre side plot was discussed. Elminster himself hid in Dlardrageth tower, was weirdly nonchalant about ghosts, a mob showed up to kill him, and he got hit with some sort of vision/seizure courtesy of Mystra. Today, Elminster faces his pursuers, and some random people we haven’t seen in a while make their return. Joining us once again will be Mira and Calassara!
Chapter Twelve: The Stag at Bay
Calassara: Well, it sounds like something’s going to happen, at least? Can I hope for that much? Our opening quote comes from the gossip rag again, because of course it does. The most dangerous moment in the hunt is when the stag turns, at bay, to trade his life for as many of the hunters as he can. Elven magic customarily turns such moments into mere glimpses of magnificent futility. But what would such moments be, I wonder, if the stag had strong magic, too? Well, if you want to find out… hunt a druid. Though I doubt that will end well for you. And using magic in a hunt? Not very sporting, is it! Not to mention, of the animals one usually hunts, I had always heard the most dangerous is not the stag, but the boar… then again, the stag is the symbol of Elminster’s house, and Elminster is being hunted, so clearly, we’re being metaphorical here. *rolls her eyes*
We cut to an elf screaming It’s coming for me! Blast it! I’m not sure if that “blast it” was a curse or an instruction, but either way the screaming wakes Elminster up (so he didn’t bleed out last time? What a pity… I mean, oh, good, he’s alive). He sees a blast of fire and some collapsing stone from nearby as he tries to figure out what’s going on and feels like part of his face is burned. Finally, the fires dim and he can make out an elf hovering in midair, his sword drawn. The Dlardrageth ghosts are surrounding him and attacking him, and… oh, dear, is this Greenwood’s authorial favoritism in play? For the Srinshee and Elminster, the ghosts are inconveniences at worst – but to Elminster’s enemies, they’re an actual threat! And of course, we have no reason for why this would be. Elminster thinks to himself that there was little chance any of the young elves here today had the power to destroy a Dlardrageth ghost. Considering these are, again, the same ghosts who have given you no trouble at all, am I the only one who thinks that sounds like a rather low-key bit of boasting? On the other hand, Elminster also thinks that these ghosts have little power to do more than frighten the living – dear, dear, in the sorts of stories I know, people who underestimate ghosts and monsters tend to end up dead. He also thinks that the elf is in easy range of throwing lethal magic at him, if he notices him. Elminster grabs for his spellbook and thinks to himself about what Mystra just put him through… I mean, did for him. She’d dragged him through a thousand tangled Alastrarran half-memories to what his mage’s mind had remembered clearly, at the very depths of his recall: the spells the lore-gem had held. There’d been one he’d dared not use. Empowering it would strip three of the most powerful spells from his memory and drain something from the scepter as well… but it was needful he do so. And of course, Elminster’s goddess swooped in just when he needed her to make him more powerful. Whyever should we have assumed otherwise?
Mira: …I don’t think I did assume otherwise? Knowing what story this is, I mean… even though gods in my own world rarely give their gifts without a price. And so Elminster begins preparing his spell, drawing power from the scepter as he does. At last, when the spell is ready, Elminster hides his spellbook again, taking the cord off it (what was the point of hiding it the first time, then? And did he get it out just to retrieve the cord?) which he then uses to slip down to the next level of the ruined tower. The levitating elf, too busy fighting the ghosts (which can indeed be very dangerous, Elminster, especially malevolent ones such as these – my guild does not specialize in dealing with them merely out of respect or because they’re good sources of old knowledge!) doesn’t notice, and once Elminster’s on the floor, he casts his first spell, the shield he used fighting Delmuth. It was time to face Ivran’s merry band of blood hunters. The elves sense his magic from the room they’re currently searching and let out an excited roar – are these elves, or lions? – before heading his way; it was time to greet them. Elminster sticks his head out from where he’s hiding to see the levitating elf descending towards him and taunts him by waving at him. Which leads to an… outraged?... cry of He waved at me! By Nemorga, if this is how these people react to something like that, imagine how they’d treat a real insult! Tlannatar Wrathree, coming up behind him, urges him to get a move on, and El gave him a grin that must have showed every tooth he possessed, and made an almost amorous beckoning gesture. …considering the way Greenwood has described almost every elf in this book, maybe it is amorous? Although that grin would be most unsettling, if so… Ivran, behind them both, doesn’t care if he’s grown dwarven-dunged gossamer wings – what even would such things look like!? - and just tells them to move.
Tlannatar literally shoves the first elf towards Elminster; Elminster considers shooting lightning at them, but in a rare display of prudence, thinks they might have a mantle capable of deflecting it and holds off. He runs off, thinking that it’s fortunate that none of these elves have bows; they left that weapon to their common warriors, thank Mystra. Or Corellon. Or Solonor Thelandira, the hunting god. Or whomever. That’s… quite an array, from common warriors to the highest god in their pantheon! And here I thought the bow was one of the weapons most stereotypically associated with elves… Elminster stops and waits for Tlannatar and the other elf to come up behind him, then once they’ve seen him, keeps leading them on a further chase through the tower. As he runs, he prays to Mystra that he survives this, or she’ll have to send another Chosen to Cormanthor to finish his mission. If you want to be gentle on whoever that is, select an elf, hmmm? That doesn’t strike me as a bad idea… assuming that the elves, who have their own gods, are amenable to that. I think I’ve mentioned before that gods are territorial? Elminster keeps leading the elves deeper into the tower; one of them comments that this isn’t right, that Elminster wasn’t so fearful before, but Ivran tells him to be quiet. It was his moment of glory; he was swaggering towards Elminster with leisurely grace, almost dancing on the tips of his toes as he came. Well, Ivran almost sounds to me like he’s about to burst into song, though that can’t be right… and being so overconfident against Elminster, I can only assume his end is near. He taunts Elminster, asking if he’s cornered now, and Elminster says no – Ivran is. So, the tables have turned! Ah, I think? Some of the other elves are startled by this, but Ivran tells them to be quiet.
Calassara: And then, instead of taking his own advice, he starts making that classic villain mistake – he starts monologuing. You hairy barbarians think yourselves clever… and you are – too clever. Unfortunately, in the half-witted, cleverness breeds insolence. You’ve certainly shown us ample supplies of that, being insolent enough to think you can slaughter the heirs of no less than ten Houses of Cormanthor – eleven, if we count Alastrarra, whose lore-gem you wore when you came trotting into our midst; who’s to say you didn’t murder Iymbryl to get it? – and pay no price. Some who hold the rank of armathor serve Cormanthor diligently all their lives, and slay fewer foes than you have today… See, there are many more, here. What a splendid opportunity to add to your score? Why do you not attack? Are you scared, perhaps? Well, despite the racist way in which he makes his point, I can’t see Ivran is wrong – although, he really should have stabbed or blasted Elminster, then gloated afterwards. Elminster says violence isn’t Mystra’s way and, oh, Savored Sting, excuse me… *she doubles over laughing; finally she sits up, wiping her eyes* Oh, gods… remember all the people Mystra killed herself last book? And all the people she helped you kill? Violence is absolutely Mystra’s way! You’re not fooling anyone, Elminster! Ivran mentions the heirs Elminster killed by the pool – and, okay, that was a frame, but it doesn’t change my overall point! The hunters encircle Elminster as Ivran starts reeling off the names of the houses all his supposed victims belonged to. And, I hear from our mages, Echorn and Auglamyr, too! Considering that was Elandorr and Symrustar… yes, Elminster, those (or at least, whatever Elandorr did to Symrustar after you left them) are on you.
Ivran starts tossing his sword back and forth, restless juggling that El knew meant he’d throw it soon – you know, you can throw a sword, but most swords aren’t weighted for that. And besides, if you do that, you’re down a weapon. So in most situations, it’s a showy but rather useless move. Where were we? Oh, right. Ivran says that any one of the deaths would have been enough to earn Elminster’s death in turn, so now Ivran is stuck trying to figure out how to kill Elminster ten or eleven times over. Considering you’re in a haunted tower… that might not be hypothetical. Two of the gallants you slew were close friends of mine. And all of us here are saddened by the loss of the Lady Symrustar, whose promise has warmed us all for three seasons now. You took these from us, human worm. Have you anything futile to say on your own behalf? Something to entertain us as we hack you down? *she shakes her head disapprovingly* Monologuing. And I must say, from Ivran’s perspective, knowing what he thinks he knows (ie, that Elminster is a dangerous murderer who killed his friends, and will likely kill again if he’s not stopped)… I can’t say his actions don’t make sense? And one thing Elminster has not said in his defense is “I’m innocent,” even though it’s true of most of the deaths. I don’t count “violence isn’t Mystra’s way” because we all know that’s a lie! Does what you did to Symrustar weigh on your conscience, perchance? Well, Ivran and his compatriots charge, and Elminster casts his spell and became a rising, roiling column of white sparks. Huh… not what I was expecting, but… nice trick. The elves pass through him and slam into each other, weapons still raised, with predictable results. Elves arched in agony and screamed, or coughed around the hilts of deeply driven blades, and poured out their blood upon the stones. Oh, but violence isn’t Mystra’s way. *she snorts* And my goddess is famous for being celibate!
MG: For the record, Calassara worships Calistria, goddess of lust, passion and vengeance… who is, obviously, not celibate.
Mira: *delicately* I can’t say I’ve ever speculated on Lord Nemorga’s sexual habits – what would even go where? *she shudders* - so let’s move on. Elminster starts to drift away, while Ivran yells for the others to stop him. His last word was choked off by blood bubbling forth due to two blades that were not his standing in his body – oh, my – and another elf hurries over to heal him. Tlannatar says he has a spell and calls for the others to raise their blades (does that include the two currently sheathed in their leader?). The elves obediently do so, and Tlannatar’s spell sends them shooting after Elminster, point-first. The blades hit the column of sparks that is currently Elminster and get spat back out across the room at random. Tlannatar cried out as one took him in the ear, and toppled over with his mouth still open; it would gape, now, forever. Ivran, held up by his healer, took one in the throat and spat blood at the ceiling in a last, dying stream, and another elf fell, far across the room, with a sword right through him. *giggling weakly* But violence isn’t Mystra’s way… violence isn’t Mystra’s way! *she composes herself, holding tightly to her scarf* Once it’s all done, Elminster drifts away down the corridor, leaving only the nameless, fearful elf from before; of them all, only he still stood, though someone was moaning and moving feebly by one wall. The nameless elf stumbles over to that person, but by the time he gets to them, they’re dead as well. Nemorga help us all – I think this tower just got several more ghosts! Vengeful ones. How many of us… does it take to buy the life of one human? Father Corellon! How many! Considering it’s Elminster… too many, but the scene ends there.
We cut to Elminster as raw power surges through him – did he need more? – and he was feeling stronger, warmer and mightier by the second. He spins on, sucking up the magic the hunters wove around the tower and feeling stronger still; laughing uncontrollably, El felt himself growing taller and brighter, as he rose from the shattered base of the fallen tower. Ah… wasn’t this more-or-less what happened to the villain at the end of the last Shnadril book, which I didn’t spork but did hear about? I don’t think this is going to end well, one way or another… The four mages the hunters left outside initially panic, then start casting something in response. Elminster closes in on them as the elves finish their spell; an instant later, Faerun exploded, which can’t be good. Elminster can feel his essence torn apart and dispersed in all directions; he barely manages to call out Mystra’s name and he was falling… many of him were falling, onto many treetops… *in horror* Oh, gods help us all! One was bad enough! We cut to Earynspieir, demanding someone tell him what happened, while thinking to himself that the young bloods of the realm are all fools. The mage he’s speaking to falls to his knees and begs for his life, but Earynspieir only wants to know if Elminster’s dead (considering he continues to star in novels set more than a thousand years after this… if he is, I don’t think it will stick?). The mage says they blasted Elminster to bits, and though they’ve been scrying for him since, they haven’t found him. We also learn the name of our lone survivor, Rotheloe Tyrneladhelu, what a name – who apparently hasn’t stopped crying since they found him. Considering what he went through… I can’t blame him. Earynspieir sarcastically thinks that with eight dead and a ninth suffering and no proof their enemy is dead, they truly won a great victory. The mage insists it was. I didn’t see you there, standing boot to boot with us, hurling spells at the heirslayer! He describes how Elminster came bursting out of the tower in the form of a pillar of flame and how much courage it took to stand their ground against him, and… I don’t think he’s wrong? Earynspieir isn’t impressed, and calls on two of the other court mages, Sylmae and Holone, to scry on him and make sure he’s telling the truth. The mage tells them to get back, but Sylmae is undeterred; he can’t believe they’re going to scry on him, but Sylmae assures him they act with the Coronal’s authority. The mage thinks that the whole realm knows the Coronal’s gone mad, which does seem to be a problem – maybe he should look into improving his image? Earynspieir coldly tells him that once they’re done scrying him, they’ll take him straight to the Coronal so he can tell him that in person. If you’re feeling a trifle more prudent than at present, you may be wise enough to do politely. And on that threatening note, the scene ends.
Calassara: And so, we cut to… Galan, who I was sure was one of the ones whose death was collateral damage during the duel between Elminster and Delmuth, but apparently not. He’s staring at his reflection, and indeed his face is now a bloody mess, but he was a warrior of Cormanthor, not one of those weak-knees, the prancing and overperfumed lispers whom the high noble houses of the realm were pleased to call heirs. *flatly* I’ve known some “prancing and overprerfumed lispers” who are among some of the best swordsmen I’ve ever met, so… do go on, keep going with that line of thought, I’m sure it will end so well. He was like stone, or old tree-root. He would endure without complaint and rise again. Someday. Beg pardon, but… weren’t you the same person who was going to flee Toril to escape your gambling debts? That’s not “enduring without complaint,” is it? He turns away from the pool where he’s been studying himself and sets off, heading for somewhere called Assombryl. He thinks to himself that no one lives around here because of the stirges, and one is following him now…
MG: Think a giant mosquito, crossed with a bat. Nasty critters.
Calassara: …I can only imagine *shudders* He thinks if the stirge and all its relatives catch him, he might be nothing more than a bag of dried skin and bones before night but keeps going until he stumbles onto a cart laden heavily with mushrooms. He starts eating them, only for the elf who’s pushing the cart to leap out from behind it and raise a dagger to throw. That was quick! Galan knocks it aside with a thrown dagger of his own, then pins the other elf – a farmer, is that the first elf commoner we’ve seen in this whole book? Do they all live out in the country? – against a tree with his sword. The farmer starts babbling about his farm and his, ah, shrooms – I think I’ve sampled a few of those in my time – and then starts handing over his money, but it turns out Galan is so beat up, the elf thinks he’s human! *flatly* Really. Because being ugly and bloody is all it takes to look like a human, I suppose? The farmer keeps handing money over, and it turns out he doesn’t think Galan is just any human, but Elminster himself! I would not dream of trifling with or cheating the great human armathor that Corellon himself has sent to our Coronal to scourge the sinful and decadent of our realm! I think you’ve got the wrong god, friend, but otherwise… close enough. Finally, the farmer hands over some gems, then says he’s given everything but my float of shrooms and my lunch! It turns out though that Galan, after his ordeal, is hungry, and he does want the poor man’s lunch. The farmer pulls it out of his cart and hands it over, and in return Galan gives him his gems back – not for any altruistic reason, but because gems are easier than coins to trace magically, and coins are safer. The farmer is so loudly thankful that Galan is temped to kill him then and there for being annoying, but he resists the urge and sends the farmer on his way home. As he does so, he swings his sword – and just happens to slice a stirge in half as he does, which earns more praise from the farmer and makes Galan are the more convinced to travel alone. He heads off to eat his stolen lunch and stops by a big tree to pray to Corellon. You do have a sense of humor, Sacred Mother and Father, don’t you? Did… did Greenwood actually manage to work in acknowledgment of Corellon being both male and female, like I’m told they’re supposed to be? I’m actually impressed… not enough to improve my opinion of the overall work, but still… Galan gets no reply, but thinks Corellon probably knows about their own sense of humor already, and starts eating. Corellon offered no objections. And on that note, we end this seemingly irrelevant interlude with a rather unlikeable character. Which is, alas, not much different from most of Greenwood’s writing…
Warning: Potentially triggering material begins here.
Mira: And so, we cut to someone named Lord Ihimbraskar Evendusk as he complains about Elminster killing lords and armathors breaking their blades, and wonders what Cormanthor is coming to. He’s so angry he brutally beats a servant who happened to be in his way with his Pegasi goad and his wife Duilya is left wondering if she has to go through with this. Oh, right, she was part of that party from several chapters ago, wasn’t she? The one who planned to get drunk and seduce her husband to make him do what she wants… and now it’s looking like her husband is an abuser with a terrible temper who does violence to people who happen to be in his way. Poor woman… no, you don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to! A voice whispers in her mind yes Duilya, or he’ll be carving you up with that goad next, and Nemorga knows I don’t have much experience with sex or love, but I think that if your choices are between sex and the threat of brutal violence, you should get out of that situation! The voice tells her that they’re with her and to just do as they agreed, and this is not making it sound like Duilya has a choice – I assume the voice is her friends from the party? In which case I can’t say I think very highly of them, either… Lord Evendusk is still ranting about how the Coronal must have gotten his ideas from sleeping with human wenches *she flushes* and at last stops as he sees Duilya, sitting in his favorite chair with a bottle of his favorite sherry. Duilya is clad in a gown that would have made his pulses race if Duilya had been forty summers younger, twice as slim as she was, and just a bit less familiar. Oh, so we’re in his perspective now, and learning more than I ever wanted to about his preferences – and isn’t forty years a pittance, to a full-blooded elf? Duilya then picks up the bottle and downs the whole thing at once – I do believe that was part of the earlier plan, yes? Lord Evendusk’s silently boiling rage slid sideways, as he noticed what a beautiful throat his wife possessed. He didn’t think he’d ever noticed it before. …is Lord Evendusk perhaps a vampire?
Duilya sets the empty bottle down and says she’ll have some more; Lord Evendusk finally demands to know just what by all the pits of the spider-worshipping drow d’you think your doing? Ah, is it customary to swear by the name of one’s ancestral enemies? I’ve not heard anyone of my acquaintance swear by Glivid-Autel or the Society of Immortals*, but maybe I haven’t been listening hard enough? Duilya smiles at him and wishes him good morning, and he demands to know the meaning of this (I’d like to know, too…). He then literally grabs her shoulders and shakes her as he gets in her face and demands she answer, and I’m increasingly convinced Duilya needs to get out of this relationship, now. Perhaps we can help? He literally raises his goad to threaten her, ignoring the servants clustering behind them, and then Duilya tears open her bodice; his name was emblazoned in gems across her otherwise bare breasts. *taken aback* That… I wasn’t expecting. She asks if he wouldn’t rather beat her in their bedchamber, where you’ve room to take a really good swing. Ah, Duilya, I don’t know much of these things, but I’m fairly sure that while some people are into that… consent and restraint are important? And Lord Evendusk is acting like he truly wishes to do you harm? So maybe that’s something to keep in mind? She then adds that she prefers when you just put on my gowns and let me use the goad. *she flushes brightly* Oh, well… no comment? Lord Evendusk is stunned and turns white as the servants start chuckling behind him; Duilya thanks them for their arrival and orders another bottle of sherry. Lord Evendusk, at a loss for words, barely manages to demand an explanation, though he does call his wife wench, which isn’t very nice but far from the worst thing he’s done this chapter. Duilya complains that night after night, he goes to revels without her - if he can’t take her, can he at least take some of the servants? Jhalass, there, and Rubrae – they’re much younger and prettier than I am; why don’t you show them off and let them enjoy the same fun you do? Considering Lord Evendusk’s temperament – do you really want to subject some other woman to him? Especially servants who aren’t in a position to tell him no? *she clutches her scarf tightly* Because I wouldn’t do that, if I was you…
*MG’s Note: Glivid-Autel being Hollowfaust’s rival city, and the Society of Immortals the renegade necromancer guild that rules it. The necromancers of Hollowfaust are intended as a subversion of the “evil necromancer” stereoytype… but the Society of Immortals play it much straighter.
Calassara: Nor I… though if my family had tried to marry me off to this cretin, I’d have left Kyonin long before I actually did. The servants watch in shock as Duilya complains that all she sees of her husband is roaring and groaning so she decided to try his chair and his sherry to see the attraction. So far, all the sherry has left her with is a powerful desire to relieve herself – just what we wanted to hear – but she’s willing to try more, in the bedroom. Where we’re going now, lord. *shaking her head* Duilya, Duilya… proper seduction’s an art form. This is a punch to the face… though to get through to your clod of a husband, that might be what it takes. Of course, considering his behavior so far, literally punching him in the face… and then running to the nearest safe place… might actually be advised… Lord Evendusk wants to know why they’re going to the bedroom, and Savored Sting, these people are dense, aren’t they? Duilya explains that Drinking every night’s no excuse for spending every morning stumbling around like an idiot, making a mockery of the honor of the house, and leaving me neglected, night after night and day after day. We are partners, my lord, and it’s high time you treated me as one. A nice speech – I might like it better if I didn’t think your husband was an abusive wastrel more likely to beat either you or a servant than to pay attention to a word of it. Seriously, I think I see where Greenwood is trying to go with this, but he made Lord Evendusk too despicable, too fast, so all I can think is that Duilya should get away from him, for her own safety. Finally, he asks what she wants of him, in silken tones which doesn’t make me think he’s being very sincere, and she says she wants him to sit and talk with her about the Coronal and the recent deaths. He asks what she knows about that while slowly striking his palm with the goad, and… that’s a threatening gesture. If Duilya’s trying to get him to calm down and listen… I don’t think it’s working.
But she gestures at another chair, and as he sits down and asks her to speak, there was something in his eyes… that hadn’t been there before, which makes me think Greenwood thinks we’re supposed to think this is working. She tells him that he and his peers are the backbone of Cormanthor; never think for a moment that I do not revere you for the work you do, and the honor you have one. That would have been more effective if you hadn’t just devoted several pages to calling him a worthless lout – or we had any idea he was anything more than a worthless lout. She goes on that she doesn’t want to lose that honor, or to see someone stabbing my lord Evendusk – she says that no human is worth tearing Cormanthor apart, and that she and her friends sit and talk about this every day, but he never asks her opinion. She says he treats her like furniture, and she says she’s more than that as she gets up and literally strips. I’m your friend, lord. I’m the one you should come home and confide in and share rude jokes with and argue with. Have you forgotten what it’s like to share ideas – not kisses or punches, but ideas, spoken of aloud – with an elf maid? Come with me now, and I’ll teach you how. We have a realm to save. She then turns and, still naked, marches out of the room. Lord Evendusk watched her go, bared, swinging hips and all and tells the servants not to disturb them (also, that bit about punches absolutely sounds like confirmation he is physically abusive). You know… I don’t think ideas are what he’s thinking about sharing. He even tosses his goad aside and apologizes to the servants. And thus, because he’s sexually interested in his wife again, he’s a changed man! *she rolls her eyes* Once he’s gone the servants erupt into cheering and one of them brings in the other bottle of sherry, which Duilya has apparently said is for them. The whole group celebrates; Thanks to you, Corellon. Bring us humans every moon, if they cause such as this! And then we briefly cut to Duilya’s friends as they, having magically sensed what is going on, collapsed into each other’s arms and wept happy tears. And with that, the chapter comes to an end.
Potentially triggering material ends here
MG: Okay, so this one is… a lot. The first part is just Elminster’s battle with Ivran and his hunters. I’ll note that Greenwood makes Ivran as obnoxious and bigoted as possible, so we’ll ignore that from his perspective he’s doing something justified in trying to stop a dangerous killer, and Elminster doesn’t even bother to defend himself before slaughtering everybody (aside from the blatant lie that is “violence isn’t Mystra’s way” – pull the other one, Greenwood). Galan… I do not even know why that section’s here, except to show how far Elminster’s reputation has already spread. Galan will have a few more appearances, but thus far, he’s been a completely superfluous character – if he had died a few chapters ago, it wouldn’t have made a huge difference. And then there’s Duilya and Ihimbraskar’s remarkably dysfunctional marriage. I… don’t know what Greenwood was trying to do here. At first, Lord Evendusk is presented as an unpredictable brute whose response to every frustration is violence, to the point that we genuinely feared for Duilya’s and/or the servants’ safety… and then after a mild scolding and offer of sex from his wife, he suddenly does a complete 180 and is now humble and reasonable? Huh? I really do think for this to work at all, Greenwood needed to make the character a lot less despicable – just have him and Duilya having drifted apart over the years and needing to rekindle their relationship, rather than making him a drunken sadist who never loved or respected her at all and who, again, resorts to violence at the drop of a hat. As it is, I don’t buy his “transformation” in the slightest, and I’m uncomfortably reminded of the old trope of how women women’s only option for controlling or “taming” men is through sex. Blegh. Anyway, that’s it for this chapter. Next time, we learn what became of Elminster – did anyone really think he was dead? – and also, discover the fate of Symrustar. We’ll see you then!
I’m also partway through my reread and commentary on the (in)famous epic Avatar: The Last Airbender fanfic Embers which can be found here if you’re interested!
Since this January, 2024, marks my tenth anniversary as a sporker at this comm, I also did a brief writeup reflecting on my experiences here, my past sporkings, and a bit on what I’m likely to be doing in the near future; you can read it on my journal here if that interests you!